


All We Are, We Are

by zulu



Series: No Such Thing [2]
Category: House M.D.
Genre: Alternate Universe, Character of Colour, F/M, Kidfic, M/M, Multi, Original Character - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-06-03
Updated: 2010-06-03
Packaged: 2017-10-13 12:42:51
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,217
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/137491
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/zulu/pseuds/zulu
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Every day is the start of something beautiful.  Dylan finds his way.</p>
            </blockquote>





	All We Are, We Are

**Author's Note:**

  * For [deelaundry](https://archiveofourown.org/gifts?recipient=deelaundry).



> Written to deelaundry's [prompt](http://community.livejournal.com/glompalicious/5045.html?thread=867509#t867509). Happy birthday to me! **Extra note:** All of Dylan's boyfriends and girlfriends are the same age as he is in each section.

_  
[Age 12](http://upload.moldova.org/movie/actors/n/noah_gray_cabey/noah_gray_cabey.jpg)   
_

"Yeah! Go, Dylan! Get him!" Lawrence bounces on Dylan's bed like he's having an epilepsy attack, hollering in his ear, and swatting Dylan on the back in celebration of every punch Dylan slams into the end-boss.

"Stop hitting me, I can't concentrate!" Dylan angles his shoulders, lashing out with the wiimote and nunchuk. This game is totally old-fashioned, but he is _not_ gonna give up while House still has the high score. His health is in the red, but he delivers the final bodyslam and the screen goes wild.

"Hey, man, you did it!" Lawrence says, thumping him again. "Whoo!"

Dylan throws himself back on his bed to get out of thumping reach. "Shut up, or Dad'll come in again," he says. They've already had the "respect for other members of the household" talk once, as if Dylan hasn't heard Dad and House _doing things_ and not respecting _him_. (House snickered when he said that and made a joke about stopping up Dad's mouth better next time, which, _exactly Dylan's point_.) Anyway, House doesn't have respect for _any_ body, so Dad's just being _Dad_ again. Like usual.

Lawrence bounces down on his stomach next to him. Dylan lets his head tip back over the foot of the bed and watches the screen upside down to watch the confetti fall around his mii. He totally did spank that end-boss. House is gonna challenge him to a rematch, and probably make his bedtime later so they can keep playing. And Dad will let him, because he knows House won't be happy until he's winning. Awesome. Dylan grins at Lawrence and smacks him. "You could've killed me!" he says. "Jeez!"

Lawrence grins back, his dark eyes shining, his face a little flushed. Dylan wriggles a bit, because they're kind of close. Not in a bad way. But when one of them isn't playing, Dylan remembers that they're both lying on his bed, and there's not a lot of room. It gives him a funny feeling in his stomach.

"Your turn," he says.

"You play really old games," Lawrence says, still smiling at him like a goof-face.

Dylan's face gets hot. "So? They're fun."

"Yeah." But Lawrence doesn't pick up the wiimote. He's just kind of lying there. Their shoulders are touching, and Dylan can feel Lawrence's foot kicking beside his shin--he can't really stop moving.

Dylan looks at the door really quick. It's closed. Dad said he didn't want to be disturbed 'cause he's working. Dylan bets he could be way more _respectful to other members of the household_ than he and House ever are. And it'd be quieter than the wii.

Before he starts _thinking_ too much (House says that's where most people go wrong in the first place), Dylan pushes himself up on his elbows and kisses Lawrence, who's already leaning over him anyway. It's fast and he almost misses, and he doesn't do the open-mouth thing that Dad and House do, but it makes him blush even harder when he pulls back.

Lawrence stares at him wide-eyed. He looks like he's either seen a ghost or he's just been told that aliens are really real. (Lawrence believes in aliens. House says he's a bad influence because he'll probably give Dylan superstitions and drain out his ability to think rationally. Maybe, Dylan thinks, freezing in panic, he's right--because right now, Dylan can't think at all.)

And then Lawrence kisses him back. He's quick, too, so that their mouths only touch for a second. He blinks at Dylan, and Dylan opens his mouth to say something or maybe just to breathe, and Lawrence does it _again_. Except this time _his_ mouth is open, too, and Dylan tastes something warm and slippery and it's Lawrence's _tongue_. His breath is hot on Dylan's face. It feels really weird but kind of good.

Lawrence jerks back almost at once. "Was that okay?"

Dylan swallows. "Uh--" It really was. Maybe it gets even better with practice, because House and Dad do it like that all the time, and they get all happy (well, for them) after they do it a lot. "Yeah?" His heart is going really fast. He licks his lips and wonders what his tongue tasted like to Lawrence. "Wanna try again?"

Lawrence's eyes get even wider, and then he grins like he's the happiest guy on the planet, and he says, " _Cool_."

***

 _  
[Age 14](http://media.monstersandcritics.com/galleries/1699636/TYG-00378640085.jpg)   
_

"Come on," Dylan says to Remy, opening the apartment door and trudging in. "I'll show you my room--"

"Shoes off," Dad calls from the office.

Dylan glares down the hall, even though there's no one to glare at. He _hates_ that. Dad says the same fucking thing every time Dylan walks in the door, like Dylan doesn't _remember_ the no-shoes-in-the-apartment rule that has been the same since he was _three_. "Fuck you," he says, but he says it so only Remy can hear.

She giggles. "Wanna leave your shoes on?"

"He'll know," Dylan says. Because Dad will. And then he'll make Dylan mop the floor. Because if you don't follow the rules, you get in trouble. Which is such bullshit, because House _never_ follows the rules. His parents are _both_ stupid hypocrites, because House tells him to do what Dad says, and they both _embarrass_ him when he has friends over. "Come on," he says again, and leaves his shoes on and trudges down the hall to his room, with Remy laughing behind him.

"Leave the _door_ open," Dad says, still without showing his face, another stupid reminder of another stupid rule.

God, like Dylan only ever has friends over who he wants to have some fucking _privacy_ with. "Leave me a _lone_ ," Dylan yells back, and slams the door shut as hard as he can, wishing he could make the whole stupid apartment building collapse from his room outwards. "I hate him," he says to Remy. "He treats me like I'm a little kid."

"Uh, I think he's treating you like you might get me pregnant," Remy says, with that look on her face that means she's sort of laughing at him, but sort of with him. "That's not like a kid."

"Like I don't know about condoms," Dylan says. They're only everywhere in the apartment. He toes his shoes off (they are kind of uncomfortable after wearing them all day) and throws himself down on his bed sideways. "House tells me all the time that Dad didn't use one and that's why they have me."

"Oh my God," Remy says, her eyes getting all liquid and sad like a baby seal's. "That's a terrible thing to say."

Dylan rolls his eyes and shrugs. If Remy's going to get all pitying on him then this is the last time he's inviting her over. "It's not. House does it to bug Dad, that's all. He's the one who was pregnant anyway. If he didn't want me he wouldn't have had me."

Remy sits beside him. "I wish my parents didn't have me," she says, low and bitter.

Blinking, Dylan sits up and stares at her. "Why?" he asks. He wonders if _he_ should say that that's a terrible thing to say or if Remy will think he's annoying for looking at _her_ like a baby seal.

Remy crosses her arms and stands up, like she's running away from him. "Because it was a stupid idea," she says. "Grownups never _think_ , they only like to _fuck_."

Whoa. Dylan grins, hiding the nervous flutter in his stomach. He swears all the time, mostly with the guys, but no one he knows has ever really said _fuck_ with as much venom as Remy. She's actually pretty cool.

She goes over to his old iPod, sitting in its dock on his desk. It's his baby one that House gave him years ago. Remy turns it on, and Jimi Hendrix starts playing. "Wow, what is this?"

"It's just this music House likes," Dylan says. It's all incredibly ancient stuff, and Dylan's computer has all the stuff _he_ likes on it. But Hendrix is okay. House used to play his stuff on one of his guitars for Dylan's bedtime when he was little. Dylan always loved it, even though Dad would unplug the amp and grumble about what the neighbours said. That was kind of what made it bedtime.

"I like it." Remy starts dancing, and Dylan's pulse jumps. She's really pretty, and she has really nice eyes. Not that Dylan would ever _say_ it like that. Plus she's skinny almost like a guy, except she has breasts, which aren't very big but you can still tell if you look. Dylan watches her kind of sideways and tries not to show that he's looking. "Well? Are you just going to sit there?" She reaches out to him, and Dylan gets up to join her.

He's not a very good dancer, but Remy puts his hands on her hips, and after that it's pretty easy to pull her closer and just kind of sway. They're same height, almost--well, Remy's a little taller, because girls get taller first, which isn't fair. Dad says he didn't really grow until he was sixteen, and Dylan will probably get to be tall like House, so just be patient. Which is just a dumb adult thing to say when Dylan has _years_ of being shorter than girls to look forward to, for fuck's sake.

He stops thinking about that when Remy starts dancing _really_ close. Dylan's starting to get warm, and if he gets a hard-on and she _feels it_ he's going to die of humiliation.

So he kisses her first. Remy's eyes widen, startled, but then she kisses him back. Dylan makes a sound--oh Christ, she's going to laugh at him--but she's _really good_ , and _really into it_. He has to close his eyes and concentrate. It feels like it lasts forever, and all he can think about is how good Remy feels, and how her breasts are pressed against his chest, and how she's kind of rubbing against him, and how he can hardly breathe.

When her mouth breaks moistly from his, Dylan has to pant. They're still dancing, sort of. The song changed at some point when he wasn't listening. Remy leans in close to his ear. "I can feel your dick," she says, and, oh God, she _is_ laughing. "I thought you liked boys."

Fuck. He got so hot all through, he barely noticed getting hard; he was thinking about kissing her. "I don't have to like _just_ guys," he snaps.

Remy's sort of rubbing his back with her hands, and she doesn't seem to _mind_ feeling his dick. Dylan glares at her fiercely and refuses to wish he could disappear. "It's okay," she says. "I just didn't know." She kind of smirks at him. Dylan doesn't know whether to hate the fact that he can't figure out which of them she's teasing more by moving like that. "I like girls, too," she says, and quirks an eyebrow at him. "Wanna find out what they like?"

Dry-mouthed, Dylan nods. If Dad bursts in on them now, Dylan is never going to forgive him for the rest of his life.

***

 _  
[Age 16](http://www1.pictures.gi.zimbio.com/NBC+Countdown+Premiere+Heroes+MUOMeFWst79l.jpg)   
_

"Can I borrow the _car_?" Dylan can hear the exasperation in his own voice, but jeez, do they have to go through this ridiculous song and dance every time he wants even a crumb of independence?

Dad folds his arms across his chest and stares at him like Dylan's one of his hospital minions who just got a diagnosis wrong. House isn't paying attention--or, he never _looks_ like he's paying attention. His reading glasses are perched low on his nose and he's mumbling insulting things against the mom of whoever wrote the article he's reading, occasionally smirking gleefully as he stabs at the journal with a red pen.

"Where are you going?" Dad asks. "Is there going to be an adult there?"

"And no, stoned college freshmen don't count," House says, not looking up over his glasses.

"I'm going for _dinner_ ," Dylan says. "With _Chris_. There tend to be adults in restaurants, or maybe I'm the only one who ever noticed, because you guys only ever see each other when we're eating somewhere!"

Dad arches an eyebrow, and Dylan knows what that means, something like _you better rethink your phrasing if you want my car, young man_ , but House suddenly takes an interest. He leans forward and plucks the keys out of Dad's pocket, tossing them across the room to Dylan. Dylan can't help grinning at him as he makes the catch.

"House," Dad starts.

"Oh, lay off, Foreman. They have _reservations_. The place is going to card them. Dylan's not stupid enough to use his fake ID there. It sucks." He eyes Dylan, pretending a deep disappointment that's probably real. "Seriously, kiddo, did you morph our faces together in Photoshop? I thought you'd at least age up your school picture. And twenty-three? What beer store believes that?"

Dylan huffs, because even though he's totally used to this, it's still _annoying_. Dad obviously thinks so too, and he's had just as many years to get used to it. "You _see_?" Dylan shoots at him. "I'm not going to crash." And like he's going to give up the place in south Princeton where they don't scan the ID's biometrics. He'd be betraying pretty much every junior and senior in his whole high school.

"Fine," Dad says. "Curfew's one o'clock."

Dylan shares a grin with House. He just got an extra hour without even fighting for it. Maybe Dad actually _gets_ that he's growing up. He straightens his tie's knot and flicks his cuffs so they settle right. House watches him with a look like he's either constipated or trying not to snicker, and Dylan hears which one as soon as he turns for the door--House lets out a loud, braying laugh.

Dylan's face burns, but it's hard not to be proud when House says, "Are you happy? He's just as neurotic as you about that damn suit."

Dad answers peaceably, "Shut up, House. He looks good."

They're both still chuckling when Dylan leaves the apartment. They are so sickening.

Dylan doesn't care--he's got the car. He sets all the mirrors just right (break something and you pay for it, and his allowance is fucking _meager_ ) and then drives to Chris's place. It's a bit of a surprise, and maybe it's stupid, but they've been going out for three months, and that's the longest Dylan's been with anybody, and Chris too. Plus Chris's parents aren't home tonight, so after they eat, they'll have like five hours before Dylan even has to _think_ about his curfew. If he has to sneak in later, it'll be worth it.

He pulls up in front of Chris's. The lights are on in the living room but no where else. Dylan got here in plenty of time to get Chris to change and then get to the restaurant. Chris looks damn good in a suit, and Dylan doesn't mind making promises in order to get him into (and later, out of) one. He raps on the door and waits, shifting impatiently and trying to see through the window. He has to knock again--what the hell is Chris doing? He said he wasn't busy tonight.

 _Finally_ Chris opens the door, and he looks at Dylan and then around the yard, like he's expecting Bozo the Birthday Clown to leap out of the bushes. "Dylan, man. What are you doing here?"

"Uh, it's the fifteenth?" Dylan says. "I came to feed you up and then get laid." Because it sounds better than 'I planned a romantic dinner for our three monthiversary'--he's learned plenty from how Dad handles House.

Chris doesn't let go of his death grip on the door. "I--I didn't know you wanted to do anything tonight," he said.

"Yeah, it's a surprise," Dylan says, rolling his eyes. House is so right about people dwelling lovingly on the obvious. "Come on, let me in."

"I can't," Chris says. He sounds like it's causing him actual physical pain not to do it, and Dylan finally starts to catch a clue.

"Chris?" The voice comes from inside the house, and Dylan knows who he's going to see even before she shows up over Chris's shoulder.

It's Rachel. A senior. Chris has been following her around like a damn puppy for _weeks_ , but they were--Chris said they were just _friends_. Dylan's heart settles into his stomach like it just turned to lead. Yeah, fucking right. Which is why she's in his dark house, not wearing a bra, and--Dylan notices when he finally looks--Chris's belt is undone.

Dylan is such a fucking _moron_. "Right," he says. It feels weird how hard it is to get the word out. _You said we weren't going with other people_ is just too pathetic to even attempt, so he turns around and walks back to Dad's car.

"Dylan--" Chris calls after him, but that's it, that's all he even tries. Dylan doesn't listen, and doesn't remember getting home. At least the car is in one piece.

He opens the apartment door as quietly as he knows how. But even when he's only five minutes late after his curfew, Dad always knows, no matter where he is. He takes off his dress shoes and places them in the closet. He has to walk past the kitchen, where he left House and Dad only forty minutes ago, to get to his room.

They see him. They're not idiots. But they don't say anything, just let him go past. Dylan sits on his bed in the dark.

It's a long time before he hears the tap of House's cane. He pushes the door open with the tip of it so the hall light falls in the room, then picks his way over to the bed. He sits down beside Dylan and grabs him in a sort of half-hug, his palm pulling Dylan's head into his chest, not letting him get away, but not saying anything either. Knowing House, he probably knows everything, he probably knows Rachel's locker combination and her SAT score and the first time Chris ever laid eyes on her, but he just sits there and breathes so evenly that Dylan gets caught listening to the rhythm of it.

"People are morons," House finally says.

Yeah. Like Dylan. He got that message, thanks.

"But sometimes they're stupid enough to really love you," House continues. He shrugs, and stands up, pushing Dylan off a bit like _he_ was the one clinging, and heads for the door, stopping when he's silhouetted there. "I don't know what brain damage Foreman suffered, but it's pretty rare. Most people are going to hurt you. Life sucks."

Dylan's eyes are hot, and he has to swallow past the lump of snot stuck halfway down his throat. "Yeah," he says. And he gets it, he does. House is telling him there's going to be someone he can be sickening with for the rest of his life. Eventually.

And, coming from House, Dylan almost believes it.

***

 _Age 18_

"Guys, look, just--" Dylan runs a hand through his hair, tugging at the curls, and then sighs at how goddamn futile it all is. "Just don't...scare her off."

Dad grins, and House's mouth twitches. Dylan hates them, he really does. He holds up his hands, feeling like Uncle Wilson trying to restore order to a family dinner. "I'm not kidding," he says, staring pointedly at House.

"We'll be nice," Dad says, adding his supportive glare to the laser heat directed at House.

House tries to pretend they're frowning at somebody behind him, and then blinks in wounded innocence when he realizes he's the target. Dylan stopped being fooled by that look when he was _six_. How Dad puts up with it every damn day remains a mystery, and _not_ one Dylan wants to delve into, because House would probably _tell him_. With great glee. Exactly how he keeps Dad happy, and for God's sake, he's _sixty-five_ ; he's supposed to be slowing down. Aunt Cuddy has been trying to get him to either retire or stop taking loud, snoring naps in the clinic lobby for the past _year_. Dylan has stopped wishing that he'd grow up, because clearly at this point it's just not going to happen.

The buzzer rings, and Dylan nearly leaps out of his skin to get to it first, as though House might limp across the room faster than Dylan could sprint. "Hi?"

"Hey, honey," Amber says. "Looks like the movers are here."

"Great," Dylan says, a grin taking over his face without his permission. "Come on up." He buzzes her in, and when he turns back, House and Dad are exchanging looks that knot Dylan's stomach up all over again. Normally, House is the one nobody trusts, but Dylan's almost more scared of what Dad will say. He's the one who scrutinizes Dylan's boyfriends and girlfriends with the kind of intensity that's usually reserved for ambiguous bacterial culture results. House is obnoxious right off the bat, but if he's impressed, he dials it back to the regular bad jokes and pointed insults. Dad judges _slowly_ , and _forever_.

There's a quick, sharp knock on the door, and Amber steps inside briskly without waiting for him to open it. She smiles and comes over for a kiss, wrapping her arms around him briefly. Dylan kisses her back, lightly but with every ounce of feeling for her.

"Looks like you've been busy," she says. Her smile is gorgeous, and brilliant, and it's probably never going to stop making Dylan's chest clutch up.

"Yup," he says. They're surrounded by boxes. The place they've rented is tiny, so some of his crap is going into storage, but the rest is coming with them to New York. Dad didn't say anything, but Dylan knows how proud he is that Dylan chose his alma mater for his undergraduate. He just wonders what they're going to think if he doesn't try to become a doctor.

"Hello," Amber says, crossing the room and holding out a hand for Dad to shake. He does, although Dylan can see that he's amused. "I'm Amber Volakis."

"Eric Foreman," Dad says. "And," waving at House, "Greg House."

Dylan holds his breath, but Amber doesn't miss a beat. She lifts her chin challengingly, and holds her hand out to him, too. House _can_ stand without his cane, but he doesn't like shaking hands because it's awkward. If Amber _hadn't_ offered, though, after she did with Dad, House would grumble for the next twenty years that all she saw was his leg. Just a damn cripple in her eyes--Dylan can already hear the complaints.

House eyes her suspiciously, and looks sharply at Dylan, but he trades his cane to his left hand and shakes. Amber nods, and Dylan grins. He shrugs at House, turning his own innocent look back on him. _I didn't tip her off_.

Ten minutes later, Amber's got the movers organized, sharply telling one of them to learn to read if he doesn't know what _this side up_ means, and letting another know that if they're not in New York by five PM, she'll expect a discount.

"Here," she says to Dylan, loading him up with boxes. Dylan uses House's best pleading look on her until he gets a kiss, too, and then he heads for the moving van. Amber swats him on the ass to send him on his way. Dylan doesn't even worry about leaving her with Dad and House. Dad already looks like he gets _exactly_ what Dylan sees in her, and worried that he knows exactly what Dylan sees in her. House just looks bewildered, and keeps grinning when he thinks no one can see.

They trade off, Amber taking boxes while Dylan directs the movers to the last of his stuff, and it's less than an hour before they're ready to go. Dylan slings his arm around her shoulders (he turned out to be nearly House's height after all), and she squeezes his waist, as the four of them stand in the suddenly much emptier living room.

"Well," Dad says, and then clears his throat.

"Don't flunk out," House says. "Or cheat. Unless you know you won't get caught."

Dad rolls his eyes, but otherwise ignores him. "Call us when you get there."

Dylan steps out of Amber's arms and goes up to them, hauling them both into a hug. House sighs in exasperation, but Dad hugs him back, close and tight. "You're gonna do great," he mutters, and Dylan nods against his neck, squeezing his eyes shut.

Since none of them are going to admit they'll miss each other, Dylan reaches out for Amber's hand as soon as the hug ends. She smiles at him softly, clasping his fingers tightly. Leaning in to his ear, she whispers, "Let's make out in the elevator on the way down."

"I told you House hacked that camera," Dylan says. House just loves to know when every neighbour comes and goes.

"I know," she says. "I think it'll make him happy."

It probably will. Dylan grins, and obliges.


End file.
